Location: The CravatTime: N/A. (Though for all intents and purposes it is morning.)

This morning, as with many mornings, Gabe's first thought was one word. This one word was 'coffee.' He carefully extricated himself from his and Jeannot's bed, making sure not to wake his love as he did. He left the room quietly and went down the stairs, looking for any new room, hopefully one containing a coffee-maker and some grounds. As luck ((or possibly the BC's inherent MKCSR powers)) would have it, the first room he decided to explore was the kitchen, the coffee-maker on the counter like a gift from G-d. He only had to look through two cupboards before finding the coffee grounds and cups, and he set about making it, humming Chelsea Hotel #2 very loudly to himself. Once done, he sat upon the counter, impatiently watching it percolate.

"Certainly," Watson said, still smiling with an inspired arificiality. "I am always quite hungry in the mornings." Unfortunately, he often also ended up weeping in the mornings, particularly where Holmes was concerned, and this was beginning to make itself uncomfortably evident. He wiped a tear away in a manner which he hoped was subtle. It wasn't.

"No," said Watson, his voice strained with good British self control, "I am upset over me, because I have behaved, as usual, like a complete imbecile." He took Jeannot's hankerchief and wiped his eyes with as much dignity as possible. "When you want someone to forgive you something, it's probably best not to go throwing shoes at them."

"For getting married, and for staying married, and for. . .for. . .for throwing footwear at him," Watson concluded disconnectedly, wringing the hankerchief in his hands. "And I suppose we may as well both go downstairs and eat breakfast."

"Oh, yes," Watson said, shaking his head no. He paused. "I'm terribly sorry, I've just woke up - let's just go on, shall we?" He made it halfway out the door before sighing and drooping against the frame.

"Thank you," Watson said gratefully, patting Jeannot's hand. "I can stand on my own, don't worry. I'm only a bit distressed." He pressed his shirt sleeve to his still damp eyes. "I don't suppose there's any way that I could shock someone like you?"